Side Effects May Include
by lahmrh
Summary: Spock experiences some unpleasant side effects from a vaccine. Kirk offers comfort. Gen.


Author's Note: Written for a prompt on the kink meme, which asked for Spock throwing up on the bridge and freaking out (in a stoic, Vulcan way) because he's never vomited before.

Also works as an explanation as to why Spock is so snippy about McCoy's 'potions' in "The Apple".

**Side Effects May Include**

Spock has never been fond of physicals. They always remind him of when he was a child, being poked and prodded at by various medical personnel who seemed to see him more as an experiment than a thinking being. And the fact that Doctor McCoy cannot seem to get through a simple examination without making snide comments about Vulcan physiology does not help.

By the time the doctor puts aside his instruments, Spock is more than ready to leave. He makes to slide off the bed, but McCoy stops him. "One more thing." He holds up a hypospray and adds, "Vaccine against Andorian shingles. Starfleet insisted after the outbreak on Deneb IV."

Spock frowns. "Vulcans do not get Andorian shingles."

"I know, but since you're half-human I figured it was better to be safe."

Spock bites back a sarcastic comment. Arguing with the doctor, as satisfying as it can sometimes be, will not get him out of here any faster. "Very well," he says instead.

He sits perfectly still as McCoy presses the hypospray to his arm, feeling a brief pinch as the vaccine enters his body.

"There," McCoy says, stepping back. "I'm done. You can go now."

Spock nods and makes good his escape before the doctor can change his mind.

x x x

Some time later, he is on the bridge when he starts to notice a strange feeling in his stomach. At first he dismisses it as nothing of importance; he has experienced the sensation several times before, as a reaction to certain medications, and it always dissipates within a few hours. He has no reason to think this time will be different.

Gradually, though, the feeling worsens, until he is actively uncomfortable. It feels almost as if his stomach is too full, but he has not eaten anything since breakfast. Still, Vulcans are trained to ignore discomfort, so he determinedly puts it to the back of his mind and continues working.

It isn't until the discomfort in his stomach is joined by an increase in saliva production and a curious feeling of being overheated that he realises that, whatever is happening to him, it might not be something he can just ignore.

He rises from his seat, stepping towards the handrail as Kirk turns to look at him expectantly. "Yes, Mister Spock?"

Spock swallows, feeling the discomfort in his stomach begin to rise. "Captain, I-"

That's as far as he gets. His stomach squeezes suddenly, forcing a vile-tasting liquid up his throat and out of his mouth. He doubles over and the liquid splatters on the floor next to his chair, staining the surface an unpleasant orange-brown. Spock barely has time to take a breath before it happens again, more liquid surging up to land on the floor below. All he can do is close his eyes and wait for it to be over.

By the time the worst has passed, he is shaking, unable to understand what is happening to his body. He grips the back of his chair to steady himself, swallowing over and over in an attempt to get the taste out of his mouth. He opens his eyes to find the rest of the bridge crew staring at him, their expressions a mixture of sympathy and distaste.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and turns to find that at some point during his illness Kirk has come round to stand beside him. "Are you okay?" he asks, studying Spock with a worried expression.

Spock shakes his head. He still has no idea what has just happened, and the idea that it may happen again is unnerving.

Kirk turns to the others, who are still staring, and raises his voice. "All right, everyone, back to work. There's nothing to see here."

"I'll call maintenance," Uhura says, and Kirk nods before turning back to Spock.

"I apologise," Spock says, before Kirk can speak. "I do not know what happened."

Kirk gives him a reassuring smile. "I don't put people on report for being ill, Spock." The hand on his shoulder tightens slightly as Kirk adds, "Go on down to sickbay. I'll sort things out up here."

Spock nods, swallowing once more, and manages a quiet, "Yes, Captain."

He heads for the turbolift. Behind him, he hears Chekov begin to speak, the ensign clearly having forgotten the sensitivity of Vulcan hearing. "I have never seen a Vulcan throw up like that before. I did not realise it was possible."

"Maybe he ate the seaweed casserole," Sulu replies. "Have you seen it? That stuff'd make anyone sick."

Kirk's voice rings out sharply. "Thank you, gentlemen. That's quite enough."

Spock glances back in time to see the two exchange guilty looks and turn back to their consoles. Frowning, he steps into the turbolift.

He ponders his crewmates' reactions as he makes his way down to sickbay. They seemed to view his affliction as something embarrassing, but not dangerous, and Chekov's words seem to indicate that such an experience is not unusual among humans. He suppresses a shudder at the thought. If that is true, then humans are clearly more resilient than he has given them credit for.

He hesitates at the door to sickbay. It has only been a few hours since he was last here, and he has no great wish to return. But Kirk asked him to come here, and it _is_ the most likely place to gain information on what, exactly, might be wrong with him. With that in mind, he takes a deep breath and walks through the door.

He finds McCoy in the main sickbay, running a dermal regenerator over the arm of a young man from engineering. The doctor looks up as he enters, and swiftly passes the job off to one of the nurses before coming over to him. "Well, this is a surprise," he says, looking Spock up and down. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

Spock clasps his hands behind his back, searching for words to explain the situation. "I was on the bridge, when I… became ill."

McCoy frowns. "Ill?"

Spock nods, swallowing against the memory. "My stomach contents were forcibly ejected. It was quite unpleasant." He still has the taste in his mouth.

McCoy blinks. "You threw up?"

That is the phrase Chekov used. Spock nods slowly. "I believe that is the colloquial term."

McCoy frowns. "I didn't think Vulcans did that."

"Ordinarily we do not," Spock replies shortly. He grips his hands a little tighter and adds, "Do you know what might cause such a reaction?"

McCoy insists on ushering him over to a bed before answering, giving Spock an exasperated look when he chooses to stand next to the bed instead of sitting down. "Could be a lot of reasons. Do you have any other symptoms? Headache, stomach ache, fever?" He picks up a scanner and begins running it over Spock as he speaks.

"No," Spock replies.

"Eat anything strange lately?"

"No."

McCoy frowns, staring at the readings on his scanner. "Well, there's nothing immediately obvious… wait." He looks up from the scanner, eyes bright with sudden understanding. "I think I might know what's wrong with you."

Spock raises an eyebrow, firmly suppressing a surge of relief at the words. "Indeed?"

"The vaccine I gave you. One of the more common side effects is nausea." He shrugs, adding, "Actual vomiting is rarer, but not unheard of."

Spock considers this. "You did not mention that when you gave it to me." He would have protested more vigorously had he known.

"You didn't ask," McCoy replies. Before Spock can respond, he continues, "If I'm right, the nausea should wear off in a day or so." He studies Spock intently. "I'd like to take you off-duty until then, just to be safe, but I'm sure you've got some perfectly logical reason why I shouldn't?"

Spock knows what he should say, but cannot seem to form the words. The unpleasant feeling in his stomach has not left, and the idea of… vomiting… on the bridge a second time is not appealing in the slightest. He avoids McCoy's eyes and says quietly, "You may do as you wish, Doctor."

McCoy blinks. "You're not going to argue with me?"

Spock shakes his head. "Not at present."

McCoy looks as though he's about to say something more, but then shakes his head and reaches past Spock to lay his scanner on the table. "All right, you're off-duty for the next twenty-four hours. Get some rest, drink plenty of fluids, and if you feel up to eating try something light, like toast or soup. If you're still feeling queasy tomorrow we'll go from there."

Spock swallows at the mention of food, and sees something like sympathy enter the doctor's eyes. Quickly he turns away. "I trust you will inform the captain?" he asks, facing the doorway.

"Of course," McCoy replies. "You go rest or meditate or whatever it is you do."

The sympathy is in his tone now, and Spock stiffens slightly. He does not want sympathy; he wants not to be ill. "I believe I shall do so," he says shortly, and leaves.

x x x

He goes directly to his quarters after leaving sickbay. He doesn't like to admit it, but he finds the warmth and familiarity comforting, especially in situations like this. He sinks down to the floor and attempts to meditate, but cannot seem to focus. The unpleasant feeling in his stomach seems to be getting worse again.

He tries to calm himself, but it is difficult. The prospect of vomiting again, even here, alone in his quarters is deeply unnerving, and the more his mind insists on thinking about the possibility, the worse he feels. Eventually he retreats to the bathroom and spends some time standing over the sink, just waiting for it to happen again.

It takes some time for him to accept that it isn't going to, but slowly he manages to bring himself under control. When his stomach finally begins to settle, he pours himself a glass of water and sips it slowly, waiting for the aftershocks of adrenaline to leave him

By the time he has finished the glass he feels well enough to leave the bathroom. Feeling more confident now that it no longer feels like his stomach contents are attempting to escape, he strides over to his desk and sits down at the computer. There are things he wants to know.

As he suspected, this sort of illness is not uncommon among humans and can be a response to many different stimuli, from spoiled food, to illness, to certain chemical substances. Including, he notes with resignation, certain medications.

The rest of his research backs up his assumption that it is his human half that is responsible for his affliction. There are records of such a thing happening among Vulcans, but only in the case of very young children. Adults are physically incapable.

He is still mulling over what he has learned when his door chimes.

A check of the time tells him it is exactly twelve minutes past the end of alpha-shift, meaning the visitor is most likely the captain, checking up on him. "Come in," he calls, and the door slides open.

Sure enough, Kirk strides through the doors, carrying a white cup. Coffee, Spock assumes. He comes to a halt next to Spock's desk and gives him a smile. "Hey," he says. "I just came to see how you were feeling." Before Spock can respond he continues, "McCoy said it was a reaction to the vaccine he gave you?"

Spock nods. "That seems the most likely explanation. His medicines have in fact caused me some discomfort in the past, although nothing quite as dramatic as earlier."

Kirk nods. "I figured you must be feeling pretty awful when you didn't return to the bridge." Then, to Spock's surprise, he holds out the cup. "This is for you, by the way. I thought it might help."

Spock takes the cup, glancing down into the liquid. Close up, it is obviously not coffee. "What is it?" he asks.

"Special Kirk tea," Kirk replies, as he pulls out the other chair and sits down at the desk. Spock detects a hint of pride in his voice as he adds, "It's an old family recipe. My mom used to make it when I was sick as a kid, and it always made me feel better."

"Indeed," Spock replies, feeling oddly touched. "In that case I shall have to try it." He brings the cup to his lips and takes a small sip, then, when his stomach shows no signs of rebelling, a larger one. The tea is a little sweeter than he would usually prefer, but the overall flavour is quite pleasant.

He lowers the cup to find Kirk watching him. "Good?" Kirk asks.

Spock nods. "Yes." Then, as a nod to human customs, he adds, "Thank you."

Kirk smiles. "Don't mention it." The smile fades as he leans forward. "So how _are _you feeling?" he asks. "And I don't just mean physically."

It's a fairly personal question, but his tone is soft, comforting, and Spock trusts Kirk not to hold the answer against him. "I am not sure," he replies honestly. "I have never experienced anything like this before. I am still trying to come to terms with it."

"You do seem a little tense," Kirk replies. He reaches out and places a hand on Spock's arm. "If it helps, no one's going to tease you about it. They know if they do, they'll have to answer to me."

Spock nods, before asking impulsively, "How do you deal with it?"

Kirk looks puzzled. "What?"

Spock waves a hand. "This… sickness! My research indicates that this process of 'vomiting' is something humans go through regularly, and I cannot understand how you deal with it." He suppresses a shudder as he adds, "Once was more than enough."

Kirk stares at him, brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I understand. Are you saying you've never vomited before? Not even once?"

"That is correct," Spock replies stiffly. "And I would have preferred to keep it that way."

He sees Kirk's expression change to one of sympathy, but somehow it's easier to take from him than from McCoy. "No wonder you're so tense," he says quietly. "It must have been terrifying."

"I am not capable of that emotion," Spock replies automatically, but it sounds hollow even to him.

"My mistake," Kirk replies softly, but the hand on his arm tightens slightly in a gesture of comfort. "As for how we deal with it," Kirk continues, sitting back, "I guess we hope that there'll be someone around to take care of us." He smiles and adds softly, "You're not alone."

Spock meets his gaze silently, feeling the uncertainty that has gripped him since this whole mess started begin to fade. "Indeed," he replies.

For a long moment they just stare at each other, before Kirk claps his hands and says brightly, "So. How about a game of chess? Since I'm here." He grins.

Spock nods, allowing a very small smile of his own. "That would be acceptable."

_Not alone_. Spock mulls over the words as he watches Kirk set up the chessboard. The captain's – his _friend's _– presence does not stop him from feeling ill, but it… helps. He still hopes the illness will not reoccur, but if it does, he feels like he'll be able to deal with it now.

He takes another sip of tea, curling his fingers tightly around the cup, and thinks that that might be enough.


End file.
